The Pursuit of Pleasure—

Vegas—there is nothing more glamorous than a weekend trip there. (If there is, I haven’t experienced it.) I was eager—though sleep deprived—as made my to meet up with Lola and Angel for the car trip to sin and decadence. (My favorite 2 places…) As we bounced in the car on the freeway—we took turns rocking out to Madonna, Gwen, and Berlin—I kept falling half asleep but having recurring bouts of DSG. (Driver Support Guilt.)

As the drive continued the girls and I worked on my first comedy idea ever—I don’t want to give too much away except that it involves Jackie as nun—and led to the many recurring jokes of the weekend. (Hanging out with the Sistahs—Yeah!) After a brief shopping spree in Primm—2 pairs of pants, a new pair of glasses and a bracelet if you must know—we made it to Vegas in amazing time.

After unloading at the hotel we got a call from Kelly to meet her for lunch with her travel party consisting of co-workers and their significant others. I was so tired that I barely remember the buffet—though strangely enough I remember the garish Treasure Island sign now reading TI in neon colors. Between the shock of that and the discovering of female pirates (not arrgh but ughhh!) I was brazenly coasting though lunch on coffee and cigarettes, which lead to the major mistake of the weekend.

I believe when dealing with different groups of ones life at the same event the idea is—like a good cocktail—to mix them up to discover the best pairings. Unfortunately at the brunch I was so tired that I allowed all of the me group—Lola, Angel, Kelly and I at one table with Kelly’s co-workers at the other. There was little in between table talking or anything and thus sealed the fate of a huge portion of the weekend.

After lunch the 2 groups, now clearly defined by how we walked in two separate groups, made our way through the Fashion Mall and in our tired state all made risky, sexy, crazy choices of clothing, support garments and shoes. (I bought 2 hot t-shirts and a cute pair of shoes.) It was so much fun wandering through the streets of Vegas, bag laden with fun purchases and sunglasses perfectly placed.

A very weary gang made their back into the hotel and we all climbed into our various beds. There was light talking and more fashion debate as I drifted in and out of dreamland. I also developed my first spin off to “Keeping Up with the Sistahs” involving a novice nun who leaves the sisterhood to teach in the inner-city after a parishioner is shoot—it’s much funnier than it sounds though the title “Breaking the Habit” is genius if I say so myself.

After a wakeup from Kelly, the girls and I dressed up and jumped into a cab to make the scene at Freemont Street. Of course this scene is cheaper than K-mart on crack and I only went to pay my respects more out of obligation than true desire—kind of like visiting my Mom’s 2nd husband. Of course, Kelly’s co-workers loved it because of the 2 dollar tables and so we left their cheap asses behind and returned to the strip. At this point I was drunk from drinks longer than my arm and colder than I have ever been. I always seem to forget that Vegas is a desert.

We, of course, ended up at the Nine Fine Irishman per Kelly’s request, and ended up dancing like fools with drunken tourist in front of an Irish cover band. We saw an older lady who looked exactly like Lucy will at 60—rocking the dance floor and not caring who watched or what they said about it.

We followed up the NFI with a run to the late night Starbucks and many quotable conversations including such winner as “you say potato, I say judging” and the realization that every straight man in Vegas was in dirty jeans and a stripped dress shirt which led to one of my favorite quotes—“I thought I was being stalked by some guy but it turned out it was just an outfit.”

After coffee we made our way to a late night buffet that was quite the con. It had cheap prices that were only on certain nights and thus we were suckered in for food we didn’t want at prices we didn’t like. There was a brief game of “gay or Euro trash”—turns out they were both—as well as my confession about liking older men. Food filled we retired for the night but not before extending our check out time.

We woke up Sunday to a rainy gray sky—Vegas seemed sad to see us go—and so we met up with Kelly for a fun last Vegas meal. After a dirty martini at the Grand Lux Café, we wander the shops of the Venetian and I discover that moving sidewalks when wet can allow me to skate down the length of them at break neck speeds. We played in Seppohara and tried on scents and watched make demonstrations gone awry.

We then made plans to return for checkout but not before we posed for pictures under “The Pursuit of Pleasure” poster outside the museum at the Venetian. We each claimed a word “Angel was The, I was Pursuit, Lola was Of, and Kelly was Pleasure. This led to us decided to no longer use the word the but replace it with pleasure—examples being “Walking pleasure dog”, “Looking for the pleasure bathroom” or “Hitting pleasure casino”. Good times.

After this we packed the car and smoked our last cigarettes and played our last slots and made our good byes to Vegas. Lola, Angel and I prepared for the long drive home. The rain was scary and we were prepared for along ride back to LA. That is, until we hopped on the highway and found out the freeway was closed. That’s right kids—we were stuck in Vegas for another night.